Our son Jack, 6, says he does not want us to put the training wheels back on his bicycle now. You see, he has learnt to ride without them.
I imagine this is how Tour de France multi-winner Lance Armstrong feels about training wheels. Sure, they were fine when he was learning to ride and could not balance without them.
But, dang, now he has got the hang of it, training wheels can really impede a hill climb or sprint in a big race.
Not that Jack knows who Lance Armstrong is. He only recently learnt about Neil Armstrong and I do not want to confuse him.
Nor does he know about the Australian cycling heroes of my younger days, Sid Paterson or Danny Clark.
All he knows is that after a year of occasional bike-riding tuition, he finally got the hang of it the other day and riding his bike IS FUN.
Now I get: "When can I go for another bike ride with you, dad?"
"But I thought you didn't like riding your bike?" I tease.
"I do SO like it," he says indignantly.
"So, you don't want me to put your training wheels back on now?" I tease again.
"Noooooooooooooooooooooooooo."
How things change!
Until less than a week ago, all my wife Katherine and I ever heard when we got Jack's bike out was (in a grizzling monotone): "Ohhhhhhhhhh, I can't keep my balance. "Why can't you put my training wheels back on?"
"No," we would say in unison. We only took them off some months ago because we thought it was time Jack learnt to, um, not so much stand on his own two feet, but balance without anything at all.
I never had training wheels when I learnt to ride a bike.
No one did back in Tasmania in the 1960s.
I guess that is one of the anomalies of history. Some caveman invented the actual wheel in the year dot, but it took much, much, much longer for a bright spark to come up with the idea of putting little wheels on the sides of big wheels to stop L-plate bike riders from toppling over.
I do remember the thrill of discovering one day I was able to ride my bike without assistance.
You would think the adrenalin-rush of riding a bicycle for the first time would be eclipsed by other notable firsts in your life.
But it is not so.
I remember much more about my first solo bike ride than, say, about the thrill of playing my first proper game of chess.
I am sure Jack will remember last Sunday as a landmark day in his life.
Earlier, I had groaned when Katherine suggested: "What a lovely day. Let's go for a leisurely bike ride!"
In fact, I was filled with dread. Horrified.
We have had many such lovely days in recent months and the resultant bike rides have been neither leisurely nor pleasurely for me.
Katherine has a bike. Jack has a bike. I do not.
So guess who has to help hold up Jack and push his little bike most of the way?
And guess who ends up getting backache?
And guess who bears the brunt of the whinges and whines to have us put his training wheels back on?
Sunday was different though.
I was only able to complete the first half of the journey because I had to go to work.
So Jack had to make the return journey chiefly on his own.
With Katherine on her own bike, and dad going to work for a rest, Jack had no choice.
It was the sink or swim syndrome.
Pedal or wheel your own bike home.
Katherine told me on the phone later that Jack had mastered it. He was now able to ride his bike on his own.
The next day he insisted on proudly showing me his new-found skills.
And the next day.
And the next day.
"So you don't want me to put your training wheels back on now?" I asked.
"Nooooooooooooooooooooooo."
I am so glad. For him and for me.
As I said, we did not have training wheels when I was learning to ride a bike.
So I feel there is something missing in my life.
I wonder if Katherine will let me put the training wheels on the car?
©May 1, 2003 John Martin. All Rights Reserved
Memory Lame:
Where's there's a wheel, there's a waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay
I learnt to ride a bicycle when I was six too. No, perhaps I was seven.
Apparently you never forget how to ride a bike, but recalling the exact date you learnt to ride it in the first place is entirely another matter.
I ought to have carved the date into the base of a pine tree near to where my historic first ride came to an end. Something along the lines of "John Martin learnt to ride a bike on this date. Unfortunately, he did not know yet how to put on the brakes and landed in the blackberry bushes to the right."
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